Strangestuck
by LadyDeathicorn
Summary: Two sweeps ago, something bad happened. The victims are passed that now, continuing their lives and healing. Bad things don't happen all the time and they most certainly don't happen to the same person... right?
1. Chapter 1

**If I Don't Die**

 _January, 1996_

In a warehouse deep in the woods of Alternia, there was bloodshed. It had lasted a week, a full seven days, and there were only two survivors. There are three gurneys, lined side by side. Three faded blue sheets rest over the faces of unknown trolls. They had breathed in fear and blood as their lives fled them. Pain had wrapped around them. As they lie on their beds unmoving, they still bear their marks. One has a hook in each of her nipples, sharp and crusted with blood. The troll beside her has a face that moves on its own regard, little larvae of life hidden beneath. And the last has patches of skin missing from his stomach, a glistening hieroglyph of a religious type; :o)

One of the survivors is only 6 sweeps old. She has crooked fangs and a mutant's blood. She sits on the back of an ambulance, naked and rocking, as she is cared for. Her eyes are sparked with something less than sanity, flicking around with her head down. Every time the doctor attending her reaches for her, she flinches. Nearby, the other survivor, a sweep and a half older, is unconscious. His brain is exposed and throbbing, most likely with permanent brain damage. Yellow blood oozes from his skull and between his double fangs, sticks to the curly hair that masks his eyes.

The one in handcuffs, sobbing loudly with purple tears streaking his heavy clown makeup, is **The Grand Highblood.** He does not apologize and he does not beg. He says nothing, is unable to say anything, for his lips are sewn closed. Like each of his victims, his lips are held together by seams. He was sent to the largest insane asylum on the planet, funded by the government. He was never to be released.

 _Two Sweeps Later_

Your name is Kazkia Vantas and you are the only troll in all of Alternia with a twin, Karkat. You two are extremely close. He is your best friend. The only reason you are not moirails is because you are related and while that in itself is weird, it would be even weirder if you were to go out, even in a platonic quadrant. He's an angry little elf, and you're the only one that can calm his outbursts. In return, he hugs you silently and makes jokes to make you laugh when you have panic attacks. Along with many assorted anxiety disorders and insomnia, you are bipolar. This is because two sweeps ago you were kidnapped by your best friend's mentor; **The Grand Highblood**. With a face painted white and lips sewn closed, he prayed loudly and angrily inside your head. He had stripped you of your clothes and instead dressed you in vulnerability. There were other trolls along side you, bloodied and pierced with hooks, of various ages. All of your mouths were sewn shut. To this day, you bear scars, five tiny white slashes on your upper and bottom lips. Among the five victims, you and another were the only ones who survived. Mituna endured more than you and is in a much worse condition. He now wears a body suit and helmet to protect himself. His mood swings are severe and aplenty, far more critical than your own bipolar disorder. Most find it difficult to be around him but you admire the older troll; he's interesting and intelligent. You're only able to utter anything about the Incident when you're in his company.

Prior to the Incident, you were the troll that everyone deemed "quiet." You rarely spoke before because you were awkward and would stumble over your words. And you almost never talk now because you're afraid of your own voice. You don't like it when others touch you; it makes you uneasy and tense. However, when you get attached to a person, you cling to them to make up for your struggles with expressing yourself. And because you're good at knowing who to trust (the only part of you still intact), those that you cling to, cling right back. Currently, you are in the hallway of Gamzee's hive, which is barren of any and all clown propaganda. The Makara boys are both ashamed of **The Grand Highblood** and while they still hold fast to their religion, wearing clown makeup and honking constantly, they hold back on their radical tendencies. You and your matesprit Rufioh watch Gamzee and _his_ matesprit. They sit in the living room playing video games. In Gamzee's hand is an Xbox controller.

"Ah, shoot, mother fucker," he drawls, his voice gravelly, "you win again." He speaks to Tavros, who is sitting on the floor, his robot legs sticking straight out in front of him. He beams pure, innocent joy.

"Thanks, Gamzee. But, uh, you're not… letting me win. Are you?" he asks in his meek voice.

"Mother fuck, no! You're the bitches tits at this game, Tavbro!" They grin at each other for a long while, slowly drawing closer to each other.

"They're so cute!" Rufioh exclaims, smiling at you and moving away to give them privacy. You nod in agreement with a small chuckle, your purple bangs falling in your face. You remember saying that the very first time you saw the mismatched couple sharing spit, almost half a sweep ago.

You, Gamzee, Tavros and Mituna had been at a club. Gamzee and Tavros had taken off as soon as you arrived, leaving the two that were screwed up in the head to fend for themselves. You hit the dance floor, LSD already dissolving on your tongue. After a good hour of stroking your hips and teasing troll's with your bright eyes, you hung back with your damaged friend, exhausted. That's when you saw your _best_ friend and Tavros glued together by the lips and you burst into laughter. But as you reminisce, you frown. Mituna had been hiding behind you, his back pressed tightly against a wall and he had been muttering about the fibers in your jacket being hacked by the government. You had to call **The** **Ψiioniic** to pick him up and assure you that there weren't dragons trying to eat the car. There were, but you distinctly remember creating a noose out of thin air and choking them to death, saving millions. This is one of your most prideful moments, but from this memory stems another, less pleasant one.

 _You have just woken up. Your legs are folded beneath you, blackness nearly enveloping you. You grasp around and find that you are in a cage, the bars close together and warm. You try to scream but when you attempt to open your mouth, there is a tug. Panicked, you put your fingers to your lips and pull back as if they were burned. Yarn winds through your upper and bottom lip, spaced unevenly. Your vision jiggles with terror and you immediately start hyperventilating. A fountain of tears pours down your face as you scramble to stand, your nubby horns just touching the top of the cage. Your mouth is numb. Your chest is burning. Your head is throbbing. Your throat is swallowing your tongue. You are going to die a terrible death, one full of blood and torture. If you don't die from a heart attack first. Minutes pass by and you tug at your hair in a frenzy, trying to ignore the garments in your lips. Harsh cries burn in your throat and tickle your nose, making you strain against the seams. You bump clumsily into the bars of your prison, which have become teeth. The cage is shrinking, pressing into your skin, biting you. You realize that you've been poisoned! With each thump of your heart, an acidic pain courses through your veins. It eats away at your heart; you can feel the organ crumbling away inside the hole that is being conceived. You forget which way is up. No, you're just hanging upside down. The cage is alive and moving. You can feel the thrumming of life under your bare feet. The blackness is alive. It pulses, reaches for you. Its claws twirl your hair and its tongue peels away what little comfort you have managed to cling to. It changes- the humming blackness transitions to a piercing whiteness. It's blinding. It hurts. But the cage has released you enough to allow you to slide down. Your teeth chatter together, every muscle in your body is tensed. You squeeze your eyes closed and press your forehead to your knees. The air pushing the limits of your nostrils gradually slow. Eventually, you calm down, sitting on the dusty floor of your personal hell in absolute exhaustion. You swallow hard and take a deep breath, finally looking between the bars of your cage. The darkness hadn't transitioned but been broken by a spotlight that showcases a single being. About ten feet away, a troll hangs from the ceiling by two large hooks poking through his shoulders. The flesh puckers in yellow gel around the intruding objects._ _Tears the color of rotten apple meat stream down his face, but he is still, gaze directed at you. His dark brows are cinched in pain and empathy. He nods once and smiles, the bloody crust around his own seams flaking away. You stare at his double fangs and horns then smile back, relaxing for the first time since awakening, but very slightly._ _Time does not allow you to think of a next move. There is the honk of a horn from nearby and you think once again to yourself; if I don't die from a heart attack my fate will be much worse._

Now, sitting in the hallway with the love of your life, you shake your head. Mituna was the weight that kept you rooted while in captivity but you're fine now, free. Things like that don't happen often and most _certainly_ do not happen again. You don't want to remember The Incident, and why not? It was traumatizing. Thinking about it, the wings of anxiety flutter in your stomach and a rush of adrenaline surges to your brain. "Almost as cute as you." Rufioh says. You're pulled out of the room that smelled of paint and back into reality, which is sweet and staring at your body hungrily. Rufioh crawls over to you. His wings encircle you and you grin at the lust in his eyes, excitement ripping the pinions from your anxiety. He slides his large hands under the hem of your shirt, stroking your unimpressive hips and kissing your neck. Your heart responds, picking up pleasurably. If he were anyone else, you would have long before shoved him away and quite possibly been crying. As it is, you've been touching each other for almost two and a half sweeps. You rest your hands on his own bony hips, but you still blush as if you don't know the boundaries. His hands explore your body more, smoothing up your sides and cupping your breasts, leaving trails of heat. He saps away your breath with each kiss and you giggle with nervousness and excitement. You awkwardly run your hands up his shirt and trace his shoulder blades, biting your lip and then finally giving in. You close your eyes and wrap your legs around his waist. He continues to smooth his hands down your large thighs and back up to the small of your back. Pulling you towards him, he places the tip of his tongue on your lower lip. His wings tighten around you, pressing lightly on your back, sending shimmering orange into your eyes as you open them to see him staring at you.

A breath escapes you as you open your mouth, once again closing your eyes, your hands snaking into his hair. You grin widely against the kiss and you grasp the base of one of his large horns. The reaction is immediate; a gasp and shudder that heats through his body. His wings draw back and his eyes squeeze shut. Before you can excite him any further, your phone rings and you release him. He collapses onto his back, panting, as you answer. "Hello?" you smile as you speak lowly. Gradually, the smile drifts away. The news you are hearing sends streaks of terror that freeze the heated pleasure you felt only a second ago. It seems that justice is indeed nowhere to be found. "Oh. Well... okay. Bye." With your usual outro, you hang up and lean your head against the wall behind you, eyes glassy. Rufioh rests on his elbows and looks at you in concern but you have been completely deflated. You're numb as you say, " **The Grand Highblood** has been released."

As soon as the front door to your hive opens, Kankri latches his hands to your upper arms and peers down at you critically. You glance awkwardly beside you at Rufioh. He kisses your cheek and gets into his car with a small smile. You pick at the pockets of your jeans as your ancestor inspects you through squinted eyes. They suddenly widen and he puts a hand on his forehead dramatically. "She's triggered!" he cries, pulling you deeper into the living room and swinging you down onto the couch. He explains to you that you need cold water and eleven hours of sleep and he tries to reassure you that **The Grand Highblood** won't be able to get into the hive, only spiking your anxiety. "He has a parole officer and the lady who called _assured_ us there is _no way_ he'd be able to get over here. That restraining order is still in use, Kazkia. You're safe, I promise you. And if you don't believe me you're _welcome_ to sleep in my bed." Uncomfortable with his proposition, you nod with your hands folded in your lap, gaze flicking between his eyes, which glimmer with red liquid. He hides his hands in the sleeves of his alarmingly red sweater as he often does when he himself is 'triggered.' You smile at him numbly.

"I'm fine. Wh-" You mean to ask about your twin, but you know Kankri needs more of a reassurance. You open your mouth to tell him that you're only a bit uneasy and not actually fully triggered, but you're not sure you can say that in less than five words... You finally bite your lip and look at his anxious posture. If you don't say something quickly he'll go into another rant and you'll never get away from him. "Where's Karkat?" He pulls his hands deeper into his sleeves. You wish he wouldn't worry about you so much. You wish everyone didn't worry about you so much. Don't they know this only makes you feel guilty?

"I don't know, Kazkia. Why can't... I mean don't you..." He struggles through his words and you sigh through your nose, standing up and wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his shoulder. He tightens his grip on you, stroking one hand through your hair. Hopefully this hug will offer some sort of consolation that you simply can't give verbally. Before he can start a lecture about his love for you, you step back and pull his hands out of his sleeves, patting them and strolling to the kitchen without looking behind you. There, you find **The Signless.**

He is silent as he looks at you, a brow raised in question and concern. You avoid eye contact with him, instead staring out the window. Reflected in it, you can see yourself. Your arms are folded across your nearly-flat chest and your hair is unruly, encasing your neck like a canopy, not quite to your shoulders. You've never had body image issues and have in fact been quite confident in your figure. But after the Incident, modesty became a necessary habit. In your naked form, you can feel the hot breath of **The Grand Highblood** on your bellybutton. You frown, but only at the defeated slump in your shoulders. "Where's Karkat?" you ask, trying to sound lively. Silence. Finally, you look at **The Signless** and crack the smallest of amused smiles. He wears only an off-white nightgown, brushing his knees. His beard is sculpted with swirls on both cheeks and he has a towel wrapped around his head like a turban. If his eyes weren't boring into yours with an intense seriousness, you might laugh.

"Kankri is right; you're triggered. I would suggest you let Karkat take care of you but he's out with Terezi-"

"Terezi? I thought they hated each oth- oh. Oh I see," you smile wickedly, wanting to keep away from the subject of your emotions. Those you liked to keep to yourself, or at least away from nosy Sufferers. Adrenaline blurs your vision as you talk quickly, desperately and try to seem casual. "Him and Terezi are making it official, aren't they? Good, they make a great-"

"Enough," his voice is loud. This startles you; usually his voice is soft and wise. This was harsh and assertive. You look him directly in the eyes, your mouth sealed shut. "I don't understand why you find it so hard to talk to me, Kazkia. You know I'll accept you any way you are. You _know_ that, don't you?" You nod, and you mean it. "There is nothing you can't talk to me about. Will you ever trust me?" you look away, shifting from foot to foot. You're shutting down, just like after the Incident. You drift away, your mind huddling in its back corners. Of course you trust him and of course you're not going to tell him how you feel; you can't. When he sees that you aren't going to answer, he sighs, raking a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I know it's hard for you. I'm sorry it had to happen to you. I'm sorry that I… that I can't help you. That you won't _let_ me help you," he looks at you again. "If there is anything, anything at all, that I can assist you with, come to me. Please?" he pleads with you, leaning close. Even though you both know that you don't ask anyone except Karkat for emotional support, you nod and he seems satisfied enough. "Good. Now give me a hug, kiddo. I've been worried about you," you smile genuinely, hugging him with one arm. "Nope, that won't be acceptable. I want a real hug." He crushes you to him and you pull up your other arm to hook around him. He smells like aftershave, some kind of fruity shampoo and fatherly comfort. You suddenly bury your face in his chest, your own inflating with repressed emotions. You start to cry a little and because you don't have to look at him directly, you let some of those emotions crack through.

"Thank you. For everything. I mean that," you pull away and look at him to find tears, red and fat, streaming down his face. You frown. "Everything is going to be fine." And in a strange way, having to recite words of comfort to someone else roots you, reminds you that you can't afford to think of yourself, even when it comes to your own feelings. You smile at him reassuringly before walking to the other side of the hive. When in your respiteblock, you lean against the closed door.

There is a few moments of nothing. The room sings with silence. Everything inside you is completely still. Anxiety nestles its mandibles in every muscle of your body and cinches your windpipe. Everything around you blurs with redness. You can't breathe and there are pains stabbing into your chest. The same thought that came to you while in the cage sneaks it's way back; _if I don't die from a heart attack, my fate will be much worse._

 **It gets a lot more interesting farther into the story, I promise. It's also pretty gory, maybe slightly disturbing? I was watching the movie Strangeland when the plot came to me and all the pieces fell together, so if you find that too disturbing, run away now. Advice, tips, criticism etc. are all welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

_The Sufferer stands in the doorway going out of the hive, Kankri and Karkat holding his hands. Their faces are smudged, their emotions unreadable. A blinding white light shines around them, oozing comfort and serenity. You scream at them, beg them not to leave, ask for forgiveness. You try to lunge towards them, but your feet have melted in with the floor. Tears collect in your mouth, forming a bubble that garbles your wailing. It tastes like blood and runs down your throat like acid. Your desperately grasping fingers and sobbing are ignored; your family turns and abandons you, taking the light with them. The gaping hole in your chest is darker than the physical blackness that consumes you. You start to cave into yourself, crumple forward, but your forehead bangs against something metal. When you look forward, you see a mirror. And what you see_ in _the mirror traps your voice._

 _There is a girl, deep grey, naked; she sits in an over glorified birdcage that crushes down on her neck. She blinks at herself and looks down at her hand. The skin is wrinkled and saggy. You look down at your thighs and frown at how the skin droops over your feet. Furhter down your leg, your feet have been replaced with masses of wriggling maggots. Individual worms fall to the floor with plops and squirts. You bring up your fingers to your chin and let the skin from your neck drape over your hand. Dragging your hand up your face, you discover that you have no eyes, only gaping holes that snap at your cuticles; you have no hair, only a rough surface that scratches your palm; the yarn that had once burrowed your screams inside you have been replaced and are grimy with slime._

 _When, finally, you raise your head back to the mirror, it has been replaced with a Chesire-like grin, equipped with teeth as sharp as despair._ _ **The Grand Highblood**_ _grins at you as largely as the thread in his lips will allow. The spindly black tattoos that creep up the side of his face spit venom at you and wrap around your throat tightly, painfully. Your fear is reflected as red in the rings lining the bridge of his nose. You watch as his simper crawls up his cheeks, the filament enclosing his fangs dancing around his eyes. They twist through the jewelry in his eyebrows and crawl up his nose, escaping through a pore in his forehead. He starts violently shaking, the sight of him vibrating. He drifts in and out of existence, the adornments in his face crumbling away. As everything dissipates and turns to nothing, a deep voice booms into your head, resonating malice, "Kazkia."_

You open your eyes, just a bit, and are completely overwhelmed. Every muscle in your body is clenched, your pores swimming in sweat. Your throat feels raw, and there are a dozen hands touching you. You open your eyes wider and see Karkat, a hand stroking your cheek and another holding a cloth to your forehead. He realizes that you are awake and pulls you against his chest, rocking back and forth slightly. You take a gulp of air, smell the anxiety clinging to his oversized t-shirt, and let out a heaving sob. Another set of arms wrap around the two of you and you tangle a fist in the back of Kankri's shirt to let him know that you need him too. Your head rests on both of their shoulders and you lament as they shoosh and pap you. **The Signless** slides into your eyesight, deep weariness etched into his features. Anger momentarily flickers inside of you, dust left from the nightmare. After wiping your tears on your brothers' shoulders, you stand and slide your arms around his waist. A breath flickers past your lips in an apology as you silently forgive him. "Are you absolutely _positive_ you're alright?" he asks when you pull apart. With a shrug you turn away and back towards your bed.

Sitting amidst your tangled comforters sit two teenage boys. One is thin and soft on the edge, nervously pulling at his hands. The other is short and chubby, a glare set on his face, his arms folded across his chest. The latter stands and says, "I think we should all leave Kazkia alone to wallow in her terror. And by 'we' I mean you two," he looks pointedly at Kankri as if expecting him to protest. With an understanding nod, he gracefully leaves.

Before the door is closed, **The Signless** says, "Sleep well, Kazkia. I hope only for the best." And the twins are left alone. You move just as though it had been rehearsed and it may as well have been, you've repeated this process so many times; Karkat turns off the light as you swaddle yourself in the large blanket and lie on your back. Your brother sneaks in next to you and clasps your hand, rubbing circles with his thumb. You fidget, still trembling slightly, unable to shake off the heaviness of the dream.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Karkat asks you. He thinks you're not going to answer him and is surprised when you summarize the dream for him. He lies completely still and you flick your pointer finger across his thumbnail nervously. You've never felt doubt about telling Karkat anything, but you think this time maybe you should have stayed mute. It's a lot for you to take in, and you were the one experiencing it. Of _course_ it's too much for him. An apology forms in your head but you hear him shift in the darkness and faintly see the outline of him leaning across you. "Kazkia. I am completely serious when I say this; that is the sickest, creepiest fucking thing I've ever heard," you burst into laughter immediately and when you're quiet again, he lies back down and continues, "Like I said, I am completely serious. What you've got going in your think pan is some extra special shit. It's twisted and flexible, doused in brilliance and emanating pure awesome. The things you do, Kazkia, the way you act, the words that come out of your mouth… they always amaze me in the most admirable of ways. You're unpredictable and spontaneous, yet collected and organized. Even with all the bullshit you were forced to endure by some fuckass omnipotent-wannabe, you still somehow keep your chin up and you're the most rad fucking person I've ever met. You're everything I wish I could be, and yet jealousy is never in the equation. I'm just proud that you're my sister. And I'm genuinely touched that you told me about your dream even though it very well may give me nightmares of my own." your chest swells with unexpected happiness. On the outside, you may seem hardened and resilient, apparently put together, but internally, everything is jumbled. You feel as if your organs have escaped their designated pods and are dancing with your thoughts, turning your entire body into a messy stew.

You turn onto your side and cling to his arm. He should know about the bubble in your chest that nearly forced everything back into place. He would like that he made you so happy. You should tell him that you admire him in more ways than you can count. He deserves to know that he's special too. But your mouth refuses to open. Whatever it is you want to say is not allowed to be heard. So you hug his arm and hope that you can send your appreciation through affection. "I love you, Karkat." you struggle to say. He lets out a relieved laugh and pats your head.

"I know."

 **I'm thinking of updating once a week or so...? I had most of the story written out, then I lost it all, so I'm back with three prewritten chapters and will need a few days to stay ahead. Every seven days sound good to everyone?**


	3. Chapter 3

With your arm linked in Karkat's, you hold your chin up and stride onto the school campus. "Are you going to ask the fucktards, or am I?" he asks, referring to Nepeta and Equius. You have decided that, for at least one night, you need bodyguards in order to feel safe. You shake your head, meaning you'll do the honors, and scan the courtyard. You can't see them and wonder if they've skipped school for ice cream again. Usually when they do that though, Nepeta invites every last one of their friends, and you received no such invitation. Maybe they've skipped school and brought along all of your other friends. Karkat stayed behind because he's the only one in the entire world that cares about. Oh, Gog! Of _course_ they don't like you; you're bland and clingy and probably smell weird. Just as you slump your shoulders in defeat. Karkat points towards some picnic tables near the entrance of the school, glancing at you and saying nothing more.  
Lying in the grass is just the pale couple you were looking for. Nepeta's arms and legs are spread far from her body as she giggles madly. Equius lies beside her, tense, legs pressed to each other and arms to his sides. The two of you shadow over Nepeta as you reach them. Your old friend immediately jumps up, throwing her arms around your neck. She often times likes to rub it in your face that she's an inch taller than both you and Karkat. Equius, on the other hand, stands awkwardly, at little more than seven feet; a stunning contrast to the three trolls that barely reach five. You wrap one arm around Nepeta's waist. Her frame is so tiny in your sideways hug that it almost feels like you're squeezing empty air. Nepeta has already launched into one of her famous rants, telling you, hands still on your shoulders and waving around in dramatic gestures, about her morning, and about Equius' morning, and her matesprit Feferi's morning. Before she can describe, in depth, her worries about being late to school this morning, Karkat interrupts her, "You autistic _fuck,_ we have something we would like to ask you." You immediately jab your elbow between his ribs, offended, and look at your friend. She has completely ignored his comment, but Equius glares at him, wringing a towel roughly between his hands.  
"Oh! What did you want to ask me?" Nepeta asks excitedly.  
"Well, both of you, really. As you may know, **The Grand Highblood** has, you know, been released, and stuff… And I just would feel better if I had someone to, you know, make me feel safe. So I was wondering if you both would like to stay a couple nights with us, maybe-"  
"Oh yes! We will be the best purrtectors!" She hugs you again, just as the bell rings. You already feel better, just knowing that if **The Grand Highblood** stops by for a visit you'll have a troll with claws in her gloves and another STRONG enough to crush his face with a single pap. You smile in relief and nod at Equius in delight. With the two of them around, there's also no way you'll have a nightmare. Nepeta babbles while you nod enthusiastically, Karkat grumbles sourly and Equius sweats with the towel still clutched in his hands. The bell rings and as a mass, you enter the school building. You grin as they walk you to your locker then part with a grunt and an enthusiastic wave. Karkat is already complaining about how annoying Nepeta is and how Equius needs to back off; but you've tuned him out, focusing instead on the troll that struts down the hallway.  
Her blue lips are pulled into a derisive smirk, striding down the hall, eightfold eye and company flicking side to side mischievously. She carries with her an air of enmity. From the way she leans back comfortably as she walks, one robot hand in her pocket and the other dawdling with a pair of dice, you can tell she's looking for you. Her hair falls around her shoulders with calculated slovenliness in a way you find absolutely repugnant and concupiscent. And then she catches you. You know this because her head tips back a bit, her tongue pausing over her fangs. Suddenly she is ignoring the others in the hall, shoving them out of the way and punching them if they move so your eye contact breaks. Your body hums with lust. You just… you hate her _so_ _much!_ Her very existence makes you seethe from every pore in your body. Finally, she reaches you, resting both hands on her rounded hips.  
"I heard your pacifier got out the other day. Too bad he'll get to you before I do," her smirk sends pulses of resentment to parts of your body you would rather not think of while in public. She flips her hair over her shoulder, sticking her nose in the air and closing her eyes before continuing her antagonism. This gives you the perfect opportunity. Emotions are running high, okay? You're under a lot of stress and she just comes up to you, all snooty and mean. Not to mention that your hormones are screaming at you to crush your lips against hers.  
Instead, you crush your fist against her face. You're not quite certain as to why you do this… A sting zaps through your knuckles but you blink the minor setback away and don't wait for her next move; you wrap your legs around her waist and mush your mouth to hers, obeying your teenage instincts. A laugh bubbles around your liplock and then she bites your tongue. The pain makes you yank back, blood immediately spilling onto your teeth. You scramble off of her, now aware of a small crowd gathering. Warmth spreads through your cheeks as the embarrassment of your actions settles in. You dip your fingertips into the blood that trickles down your chin, examining the the ruby red with disdain. Vriska seizes the moment and jerks her knee up, into your chin. Your head snaps back, an ache throbbing in the back of your neck. The move paralyzes you for a moment, flaunting your vulnerable throat, which your kismesis can't resist. She kisses your jugular, grabbing hungrily at your chest. Yes, this is nothing new for the two of you, but the fact that it's in front of the whole entire school makes it absolutely mortifying. "Vriska, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to punch you. Please, not right now-"  
"You can't just leave me hanging, Kazkia," she says into your ear, dilating your pupils. You gently try to push her off of you, horribly self conscious, but she grips both of her hands in your hair, nipping at your earlobe.  
" _Stop._ Not right now. I'm fucking serious, get off of me!" You raise your voice, starting to panic. The room tilts around you, all of the chanting trolls that surround you blurring into a single menacing one, Vriska's body a hot clamp, trapping you to the floor. Sweat dampens your armpits and you look around desperately, clawing at the ground to escape. Vriska runs a thumb against your chin and it's followed by her mouth, which finds its way to yours.  
She's strong. You're weak. She's dominant. You're submissive. That's how the two of you do things, her on top, you complying with her salty demands, but today you feel as if the world is shrinking and suffocating you. What with her tongue jammed in your windpipe and hysteria cinching your lungs, you can't breathe. Just when you think you're going to pass out, the spiderbitch is yanked off of you. She squirms around wildly, but is trapped within the embrace of Aradia's thick arms. You are on the ground, panting, blinking rapidly. Sollux reaches down and cocks his head to the side. "Damn, Kazkia. I wish Eridan and I hated each other that much," A teacher has pushed through the crowd of onlookers, waving them away.  
"Nothing to see here, shoo shoo! Get on with your lives if you have any…" you ignore Sollux's outstretched hands and stand, a hand on the lockers beside you to keep your balance. Once the horde has moved out, the teacher, with a shake of his large white head, turns to look at you and Vriska. "No public displays of animosity in the halls, girls," he titters then whispers, "Good show, though. I'd see it again," his green coat tail drags on the floor behind him as he walks away with a jump in his step.  
Vriska still fights wildly, attempting thrusts at Aradia, but the chubby girl doesn't budge. "Alright, let her go before she has an aneurism," Sollux tells his matesprit with crossed arms. Aradia immediately lets go of her victim, Vriska sputtering as she falls onto her face. She stands, hissing, livid. Before she can attack with either her body or her words, Karkat squirms into her view.  
"What in the sweet almighty taint chafing fuck is wrong with your think pan?" He shouts into her face. Then, he turns to you, lowering his voice, though it still drips with anger. "You, too. What the fuck was that?" red paints your cheeks as you look to the floor. "Well whatever it was, it was fucking disgusting. That is absolutely _not_ what a kismesistude is about,"  
"Oh shut _up_ ," Vriska sneers, rolling her eyes. "I'll just leave you two to talk it out or whatever," she starts to walk away, but apparently your brother hasn't had enough. He attempts to stand by her side and lecture her about the black quadrant, scurrying to keep up. Sollux turns to you, pushing his 3D glasses up his nose.  
"I wanted to talk to you. Mituna's-"  
Aradia, with a glassy smile wide enough to crinkle the corners of her dramatically large and widened eyes, loudly butts in, "They've been talking about you like crazy. They seem excited," her voice is bland, which contradicts her severely expressionable face in a manner which confuses you momentarily. She's talking about the voices in her head and this alarms you greatly. Something big is going to happen to you if the voices in her head are getting excited about you. Why you, of every troll on this damned planet? People generally try to avoid the chubby girl that has just warned you but you find her creepiness greatly alluring. While you still don't trust her, you like to listen to her dead voice tell stories. Sollux pulls lightly at a knot in her hair, which aren't hard to find since the entire canopy of dark brown hair that flows to her buttocks is one giant knot. She ignores him, staring at you with a cocked head, but says no more.  
"As I was _saying_ , we are having a birthday party for Mituna tomorrow. He would really like it if you came, and if you don't, you're a douchebag and should go punch yourself in the face," he nods with a simple humph and a raised eyebrow. You absolutely adore the entire Captor family. Sollux has a superiority complex, thinking he's a badass because he can hack into anything, but really, he's a lanky, pimply geek. You like to piss him off and argue with him just to hear his retorts. Given that he just potentially insulted you, now would normally be a good time, but you're _really_ not in the mood.  
"Of course I'll come," you say. He understands, of course, and nods in confirmation. He turns, walks away, but Aradia has stayed behind. Her face never cracks. Her presence makes you uneasy.  
"I hope you're prepared," and with that, she follows Sollux. You can do nothing for a few moments except blink. Blood still tingles on your tongue, a deep frown encasing it. The bell rings, giving you no time to reflect on the multiple events that just happened. You quickly take out your needed books and head to the bathroom to clean your face with a heavy slump.

Night has fallen. You have slipped into your bee footie pajamas that Mituna gave you for your wriggling day last sweep. Beside you, Nepeta wears her home-made footie pajamas with cats sewn onto it and Equius is on the other side of her, wearing footie pajamas dotted with horses, which he stole from his dancestor. You all lean against your bed, eating popcorn and watching the end of a comedy. The credits roll onto the screen and, still laughing, Nepeta goes to the bathroom to brush her teeth, Equius following. You, on the other hand, walk down the hall to Kankri's respiteblock and knock lightly. "You may enter!" He sits in front of his computer screen, which he has killed so you are unable to see what he was doing. "Can I help you?" You enclose him in your arms and kiss his forehead.  
"Goodnight, Kankri."  
"Goodnight, Kazkia."  
Further down the hall and you reach Karkat's room, which is locked, as always. You knock. Silence pans out. Is he even in his respiteblock or has he run off with Terezi again? After a minute or so, you knock again and when the door opens, you're shoved hard. "Sweet mother grub's oozing vestigial third oral sphincter! _What do you want?_ " You blink at him, tears growing in your eyes instantly. He has never yelled at you before. Never. You've always been the exception. He screams at everyone and calls them names but you're the only one he just can't get mad at. Maybe you've been too clingy lately. Maybe he's never liked you and is finally over it. Maybe he hates you more than anyone. He doesn't want to shoosh and pap you or comfort you after your nightmares.  
Well... fine.  
If he's going to treat you like no one special then you'll give him your silence, something of which you give to other people but never to him. You've decided that he's no longer any different than the random faces you see walking down the streets and don't remember. The hole in your chest that you thought you had perfectly concealed long ago is uncovered. His face is flared with anger, his chest heaving with labored breathing. Maybe he just needs his twin to calm him down. You plan on asking him what happened, what made him explode at you, but when you attempt to soften your face, it breaks down the wall and you start to cry. You take only one sputtering breath, your lower lip quivering and you quickly cover it up with your hands. Karkat growls furiously and you take a step back. Is he going to hit you? Has he gone completely rogue? But he runs a hand over his face and looks at you with apologetic eyes. "I'm so sorry, don't cry. Terezi just broke up with me and- it's no excuse. I'm sorry." He gathers you in a tight hug and you sob only once more in relief. "What did you need?" He asks softly and you shake your head. Of course he won't abandon you.  
"I just wanted to say goodnight. Goodnight, Karkat. I'm sorry about Terezi. Do you need to talk about it?" He kisses your forehead. You're stupid for thinking he hates you.  
"Tomorrow. Goodnight, Kazkia. I love you," even so, when he says this, you can't but think it sounds forced.  
"I love you, too," you say despairingly, smiling to show that you're not upset. You are, but it doesn't matter. It never does.  
The bathroom is void of your guests so you take advantage of it. With your teeth brushed and your face soaped up, you glance into the mirror. Nothing has changed. Whether you're being torn apart inside or floating peacefully on a lake of happiness, your face will reveal nothing but passivity. You like being unreadable, but sometimes you want someone to be able to recognize the mask. You're too good at hiding and you're just about sick of it. But you're not motivated enough to do anything about it, so, exhausted, you look away from your crooked reflection and turn out the lights. Once back in your bedroom, you catch Nepeta and Equius both laughing loudly at a conversation you missed out on. They welcome you as if they hadn't heard the scene with your sibling. For a couple hours more, you all tell jokes together and talk lightly, but the mood has deflated considerably. The moon is full and casts a slight green hue on your room through the small split between your curtains. The lights are shut off and you crawl into bed, your friends in sleeping bags on the floor.  
Silence engulfs the three of you in the dark room. Your heart rate speeds up. Tentacles are already reaching for you through the darkness from your imagination. You struggle with them for a few moments, silently and completely still, widening your eyes as if that will ward them off. Their suction cups press against your chest and threaten to steal your heart but you frighten them away by thrusting the blankets over your face. Through your barricade, you can feel them lightly brushing over the comforter fabric. Your skin prickles at their touch and all you can do is feel them as you struggle to breathe. A noise interrupts your silent battle; a lilting whinny. The sound reminds you that you have two other soldiers lying on your floor. It gives you enough strength to peek out. In the moonlight that embraces your room, you see that Equius's chest rises with each smooth inhalation and his lips flutter ever so slightly as he neighs in exhalation. A shimmer beside him catches your attention. You meet Nepeta's glowing eyes and at the same moment the two of you burst into laughter.  
You sit up, not ready to succumb to sleep. Nepeta pounces onto your bed. You whisper for another hour or so, but you don't confide in her any of your secrets and she doesn't push for them. You don't get to know each other any further, you learn nothing about your friend and speak nothing of yourself. Eventually, the conversation turns deep. Together, you wonder aloud if perhaps there are monsters in the Furthest Ring and what aliens look like. Could you yourselves ever create a universe? What would it take to end your own?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The windows in Rufioh's car are down, your hair whipping around your face and getting caught in the corners of your mouth. Music swims through you, nuzzling inside of you until you smile, turning the radio up. The bass pulses through your body and continues to lift your spirits. Despite the good vibes wrapped around you, there's a sliver of unease. You're in such a good mood that you easily pull it out and toss it away. Rufioh grins at the road goofily, obviously absorbing the good feelings along with you. He glances at you and your eyes meet. The wings of unseen butterflies tickle in your stomach, as if you haven't shared lust filled glances before. Warmth blankets your cheeks, making Rufioh laugh and clutch your hand. As you drive through the city, your mind is blissfully clear and empty. For the first time in several sweeps, you aren't trying to hold back tears or about to fall into a fit of panic; you aren't struggling. Relaxation sinks into you. This day will be wonderful. _Is_ wonderful. One of the best ones you've had in a long stream of terrible ones.

You turn into the Captor driveway and feel the first anxious tremor slide through you. The prospect of socializing always brings about unwanted anxiety, and the fact that there's a purple car in the driveway with an unknown owner makes it even worse. Rufioh squeezes your hand then brings it to his lips. "Have fun, doll." He flashes you a dorky grin. There's a pang in your chest, a nudge in your mind that something is off. The sliver nestles in again, deeper this time. You ache dully in your chest, thinking that you're going to miss that smile of his. But that's ridiculous, you'll see him in less than three hours. The better part of you knows it's a terrible idea to push away the feeling of wrongness this time, but you do it anyways. You've spent too much time being cautious and today is a _good_ day, not just an okay or tolerable one. To appease the all-knowing edgy sliver, you give him a lingering kiss, pull away and get out of the car. You turn and smile at him as he drives away. The feeling that he's gone forever kills a bit of your excitement, and yet again, you shove it away. Honestly, your pessimism is really getting on your nerves. Behind the front door, you hear a crash, a muffled scream and loud laughing. You knock timidly and the ruckus in the hive abruptly stops. You sure hope those weird feelings have nothing to do with you or that sense of dread. Aradia opens the door with a wide sweep and her glassy smile startles you, makes you pause to look into her serious gaze. She mentioned that the voices were getting excited about you. Maybe the event they're excited about it is soon to be at hand.

Behind Aradia, Sollux stands on the coffee table with a pillow in his hand, glaring down at the pouting Eridan Ampora. It completely baffles you as to why Eridan is there. Him and Sollux make an adorable kismesis couple but that's not exactly the type that goes to parties together. You wander in, avoiding thinking about Aradia's eyes trailing you and wave to no one in particular, eyes fixed on the floor. "What's he doing here?" You ask, gesturing to Eridan and then looking to Sollux for the answer.

"I have no fucking idea. This douche stick decided to invite himself and ruin the party. Tell him to leave, Aradia!" He shouts the last part and throws his pillow at her. It bounces against her horns and falls to the floor without causing a reaction. She shakes her head.

"Sorry, Sollux, he won't listen to me," Sollux whines, and then Eridan joins in, the two bickering at each other. Mituna is nowhere to be seen, but you can guess that he's probably in his respiteblock hiding from the unknown Ampora. You walk away from the group that is gradually getting louder and walk through the nutrition block, into a hallway painted a sickeningly bright yellow. Before you can knock on Mituna's door, a hand pokes through, grabs your arm and pulls you inside. The door is slammed behind you, Mituna hugging you from behind.

"Hi, Tuna!" you exclaim, turning to hug him back. "You ever clean your room?" you release him and examine the area. Game Grub magazines are strewn all over the floor, mind honey dripping from the small hives in the corner, video games spread out around a TV sitting on the carpet. He laughs, rolling around on his bed with exaggerated laughter, his hair falling around his face in different angles. You see his helmet hiding under the bed and know he must really be comfortable around you if he doesn't feel the need to it.

"That's what they _want_ you to do," He says, and it takes you a second to decipher what he says through his heavy lisp. You sit on his bed, trying to ignore the obnoxious buzzing of bees that bores into your brain. An hour passes and you play video games, talk in length about how highbloods undoubtedly are the dumbest of all the trolls, especially the one and his older ancestor that have nearly ruined his party today. Though you still fight for equality like **The Signless** , you don't say otherwise. He has a right to those opinions and a good reason for them. The reunion goes well, really well. " **The Grand Highblood** is out," He says solemnly, lifting his bangs to look at you with his red and blue eyes. You nod, swatting absently at a passing bee. "This means we're going to die."

"I know," where the fuck did that come from? You know? You don't know that. You don't know anything! Why does this revelation leave you with trepidation rather than paranoia and anxiety? Before your fidgety friend can respond, you shout out in pain and slam your hand against your cheek. Between your face and your palm is a squished bee. You look at the crumpled insect in your hand in alarm and back at Mituna.

Not good. Not good at all. His jaw hangs open. Blue and red sparks fly from between strands of his hair. "I'm so sorry, Tuna, it was an automatic reaction!" Tears fill your eyes in a panic. You don't want to upset him, you don't want him to be upset. You don't want to ruin his wriggling day. Guilt nearly pulls the tears from your eyes as you look at him grow angrier. "Mituna I'm sorry... maybe he's-" There's a knock on the door. Mituna gives you one last hard look, barrel rolls off of the bed, falls on his back and reaches for his helmet. He stumbles as he slips it over his head. You awkwardly cradle the bee in your hands, unsure of what to do with it. It's not like you can just throw it on the floor... Is Mituna still mad? He seems to have completely forgotten about his dead pet already.

"Who dares to request entrance into the Hive of Rad?" He calls out.

"Come on Tuna baby, it's me!" Latula's cheery voice makes Mituna perk up and fling the door open.

"Tula!" He throws his arms around her shoulders and snuggles his head into her neck, grinning sloppily. She laughs and squeezes him close. This scene almost makes you smile; it's really nice that Mituna has such a supportive matesprit. One that he deserves. You stand to leave, give them some privacy, but when you try to move past the couple, Latula crushes you to her. Your face is pressed between her breasts, clad in a shockingly bright blue, smelling like the bitterness of a teal blood. "Hey, girl! Don't think you can leave when the party just showed up! We gotta have some bonding time, just the three of us. We'll save the sloppy make outs for after you leave," You smile despite yourself. She's always grinning and radiating comfort. It's easy to see why Mituna is in love with her. She releases you, shuts the door behind her, and slams herself onto the bed. With the bee still cupped in your hand, you cross your legs on the floor, watching as Mituna crawls into his matesprit's lap. She removes his helmet, stroking her fingers through his hair. You think again of Rufioh and how he does the same thing with you. Then you think of how you told Mituna you knew you were going to die. Do you really know that? You aren't exactly surprised to feel like the days of your life can be counted on one hand.

Not too deep into the conversation, and there's screaming from another part of the hive. You scramble onto the bed with the two older trolls, huddling behind them, wishing there was a window to escape from. There's more screaming, male and female, cursing, grunting, bangs. You're shaking, but really, you don't feel much of anything. Nothing, in fact. All three of you stay quiet, completely still, listening, judging. To protect the dead bee's body, you wrap both hands around it and hold it to your chest. It's easier to protect something so little than it is to protect yourself. At least you can protect _something._ Latula slowly turns to you and points towards Mituna's closet, which is empty save for a barrel of honey and a lone skateboard. You silently walk into the closet, Mituna nestling behind the barrel. The noises have stopped completely. You hold your breath as Latula closes you into the closet.

There is a clap of thunder overhead that makes you jump as you look through the slits of the closet paneling. Latula carefully opens the bedroom door and sticks her head out, looking right. You hear the sizzling of Mituna's nervousness spitting from his eyes beside you in the muted silence. Latula opens the door more, leans forward, then looks left and suddenly stumbles backwards, slamming the door and locking it. You cringe against the back wall, still trembling without feeling anything. You're too far away too see what's going on in the respiteblock but you listen. Latula curses under her breath. You hear the door splinter as it's forced open. Heavy footsteps.

"Come on, man, I haven't hurt anybody. Do you-" She's cut short by another roll of thunder, this one accompanied by the patter of rain. You listen. All you can hear is heavy breathing. Latula doesn't make another protest. She's dead. You know it. She must be. How did **The Grand Highblood** do it so quickly? After all, you know it's him. It was always him. It will always _be_ him. You're contemplating whether you should peek out again or not when the slants of light that enter the closet are disturbed by an all too familiar set of eyes.

They're ringed with black, the irises a blazing purple. Close enough that you can see each diamond shape and contraction. His lashes are long and heavy. Hardness and insanity intertwine within his messy, high-raised highbrows. Gray cracks the white makeup that smudges the black on his eyelids. You take all of this in silently despite your palpitating heart. "Peekaboo... I see you," His voice violates your mind, tracking mud on it like dirty fingers. An unpleasant shiver trails down your spine. The door is whipped open and you work on autopilot, shooting out from under his arm. Latula lies on the floor, blood dripping from her temple. Probably dead. The sight slows you down and **The Grand Highblood** takes the opportunity to cup his arm around your stomach, lifting you off the ground. You thrust yourself downwards, centering your weight to fall towards the floor. It works, and you fall, but into his calves. He still has the upper hand.

As you fly to your feet with speed you never knew you could ever possibly possess, he wraps a fist in your hair. The bee in your hand is squished between your fingers as you thrash around, perturbation inflating your chest. His other hand clamps around your throat, black bugs already dotting your vision. "Remember what happened the last time you fought?" he asks and you do. But you don't revisit the memory, determined this time to avoid capture. You thrust your foot behind you, miss, and are thrown to the ground with a single push. His muddy boot is pressed into your back as you wiggle, repeatedly grasping at the carpet for a hold. He picks at the fingers of your fist, trying to unclench them from around the bee. You struggle to look over your shoulder as he forces his fingers under yours, absorbed in the task. At the same time you buck your lower body, you lift your hand awkwardly and rub the guts of the dead insect into his face. He clamps his hands around your wrists, twists them in horribly aching positions and forces them between his knees, which are wrapped around your lower back, as he digs in his various pockets and pouches. It's significantly harder to fight when five hundred pounds of troll is crushing your pelvis and your back is arched back. Your face goes red. You can't move at all. Your spine is bending, cracking, breaking. You can feel the vertebrae snapping. He frees your hands from between his legs and in the same instant traps them with zip ties. The crumbs of food in Mituna's carpet fade with the first bit of the fight left in you as your face drops to the floor. **The Grand Highblood** is crouched beside you now, humming a circus tune in your head distractedly as he slips his hands gently down to your ankles. You whimper, the stains on the carpet blurring with your tears. There's no use, anyway; you really did know all along that this was going to happen. The warm hands working on your ankles suddenly stop.

With your cheek squished against the floor you see **The Grand Highblood** floating in a staticy bubble of red and blue. His face is twisted in anger. Mituna stands, still behind the barrel of honey, his hair pulled back as beams of psiionic power keep **The Grand Highblood** in his place. "Go, I can hold the bastard back." Mituna says with a quaver in his voice. You immediately do as he says, standing on your unbound feet and running for the door, leaving your closest friend behind you to fend for himself.

What should you do next? What the _hell_ should you do? Guilt will tear you apart if you don't help Mituna, but there's nothing you can do to revive the situation. Everyone else in the hive must be down on the count. You don't know where the police station is. You can't grab your phone. Hopefully the neighbors won't think you're pulling a prank. You stand in the doorway for only a few unsure moments before everything turns a hue of white and you feel like you've been doused with ice water. You don't know what happened but you're on the floor, unable to contain the jerky movements of your limbs. The only thing you can see is the blackness in the back of your head. Convulsions continue to rock through you but you manage to hear the zap and steady buzz of what you assume is a taser. You hear someone fall. Your seizure begins to fade away as your feet are tied together by a girl with a lifeless smile and knots in her hair. **The Grand Highblood** takes Aradia's place and throws you over his shoulder in one swift movement.

A wave of dizziness sweeps over you as you're jostled down the hall. When you pass the bathroom, you see Cronus poke his head out, eyes wide, watching as you go by. You make eye contact, desperate for help, and he nods firmly. "Hey, douche nugget!" He calls, **The Grand Highblood** swinging around and nearly colliding your head into the wall. That's not what you had in mind. "Come and get me, sugar!" Cronus entices with a quivering grin. There is no reaction from your abductor. You wish he would have just called the police. "What, I'm not good enough for you? I'm fuckin' royalty!" Maybe he already has? His efforts are fruitless; even if **The Grand Highblood** sets you down to capture him, there's no chance you could get away. It'd just be one more to add to **The Grand Highblood's** collection. One little troll, no matter how much he works out at the gym, will not be able to hold this guy back for any amount of time. It kind of is rather strange that Cronus is being ignored rather than attacked. The Ampora follows you all the way down the hall, chanting antagonistic terms, even daring to poke the scary troll, only to once again be ignored. You're slammed to the ground by the back door in the nutrition block and watch as the large juggalo shadows over the greaser. From the look on Cronus's face, **The Grand Highblood** must be scolding him. Cronus opens his mouth to speak but instead looks to the living room, where his chiseled face goes slack with shock.

You follow his gaze and see Eridan with quivering lips, tangled in his cape, his fins pressed flat against the side of his head. Purple blood trickles from his mouth. His legs and arms are in states similar to your own. With the older Ampora distracted, **The Grand Highblood** propels a fist out, connecting with the side of the seadweller's head. He instantly falls forward, catching himself with his arms, but the subjuggulator presses a boot into his back calmly. Just as you start to scoot towards him, still unsure of what you're going to do, you're once again enveloped in an ice coldness, and this time you can smell the hair on your body singeing. It doesn't release you for a long time and when it does, froth bubbles at the corners of your mouth. This time the convulsions are harsh. They hurt your neck, repeatedly slam your head into the tile. All you can do is watch the scene unfold around you with your cheek pressed against the cold floor. You have a good view of the living room, which wavers sickeningly, bouncing with your seizure, and you are surprised to see Terezi, bound with rope back to back with Sollux. His eyes are covered with a blindfold and he's slumped forward. Terezi, on the other hand, writhes around and growls from behind her duct taped mouth.

The duo is carried passed you and out the backdoor, Eridan dragged by Aradia, whose eyes trail you as she passes with indifference. A sudden ripple of nausea rolls through you and there's no time to even consider stopping the small spray of puke that shoots from your mouth. You hardly care that it seeps under your cheek and sticks in your hair or that it smells mephitic with fear. You don't care about anything. You know there's no escaping it this time. No one will rescue you and there will be no comfort from here on out. Writhing on the floor in your own bile, barely conscious and too frightened to think straight; that's the state in which you will die. Maybe not here, maybe not now, but you can feel it coming. Reality dives in and out of your awareness. Cronus shouts something at you, his face blurry and far away. You blink so you can hear him better and he's suddenly peering into your eyes, inches away. Desperately, you try to keep your eyes open, listen to what he has to say, respond, but they're so heavy...

The next time you open them, **The Grand Highblood** has taken the place of Cronus. Death hangs from his breath and paints your face, worse even than the bitter vomit that invades your nostrils. You want to pull away, spit in his face, cringe, but you blink. You see the sunset above you. You're careful not to look into the green ball, instead focusing on the yellow and blue rings circling it as **The Grand Highblood** carries you in his arms almost gently. This isn't reality. That is why you knew this would happen. It was inevitable, pre-planned, fate. The sky is bathed in gray clouds that swiftly breeze by with a small hungry rumble. Rain lightly splashes against your forehead, dribbles down your shirt. All around you are cool hues and comforting colors that offer no solstice. The most beautiful display you've ever seen. It's whipped away by the slamming of a van door that rips away the view, taking with it your freedom. You're left in artificial darkness, listening to the breathing and struggling of your friends until you finally give in and slip into an easy natural crepuscule.

 **Once again, any advice, criticisms, comments etc. are welcome and enjoyed! It gets more interesting from here, I promise. Major death and sadness. All that good stuff.**


	5. Chapter 5

A heaviness is attached to your body. This isn't death and you know because of the soreness that hums in your muscles. With that theory eliminated, you realize the heaviness is an actual physical object. Immediately, your mind latches onto the thought that **The Grand Highblood** is on top of you, close, looking at you. Your eyes fly open-

No.

They stay closed. Your worst nightmare; thread twisting through your eyelids, rendering you sightless, identical to the bars that imprison your tongue. Two of your five senses have been ostracized, increasing the terror that courses thickly through you. Panic flares your nostrils and you struggle to fight through it. Thoughts crowd your mind, possibilities and explanations, questions and confessions. Things you've never acknowledged about yourself. You should have tried harder for Karkat, maybe volunteered more, tried to get over your mental issues. Did you leave the oven on at home? How nice it would be to crawl into your bed right about now. Has anyone noticed you're gone yet? This isn't real. It never was. You never existed. Reality is but a figment of your imagination.

A voice, wise with having been through this experience, reminds you that calmness is necessary. You take a deep breath to clear away your muddled thoughts. Another to clean them away. Once the dirt and trail of uncontrollable emotions is out of the way, you focus.

Use your fingers.

Warm steel presses smoothly against your fingertips. You are flat, on a table. There are cuffs around your wrists, ankles, forehead and waist. The air licks hotly at your bare skin, your back sticking to the table beneath you with sweat. There is nothing else out of the ordinary in your anatomy; he hasn't done anything to it yet besides his initiation with the needles. A wetness cleaves to the air. Confusedly, there is something resting on your legs, the unknown object you had first noticed. Whatever confines your lower half is extremely hairy. You try to wiggle the tingling in your toes away and, failing, take another deep breath.

What do you smell?

Iron. Perhaps the soggy air is not wet with water but with blood. The various smells of the hemospectrum seize your nose all at once and make you gag as you attempt to comprehend it. Most dominantly, you smell a low blood. The musty stench of liquid bronze. It's everywhere, painted on the walls and cohering to your skin. Maybe you're in a box of blood and rotting carcasses. Maybe _you're_ one of the rotting carcasses. You must stay calm, avoid such ridiculous (though possible) fantasies. You are not a rotting carcass and you are not dead.

Listen.

 **HONK**

Only the hair spread out around your head neglects to stand up in alert. Your lungs trap your breath. You're body turns to gelatin. Soft thuds are heard from afar, but not far enough. As they gradually get louder, your ears prick to attention. Your armpits dampen and your upper lip moistens with sweat. Your nose alone cannot contain your rapid breathing and your ribcage threatens to explode with the pace of your heart. The thuds come even closer. Then they stop. The smell of mixed blood is stronger, heavy breathing bleeding into the crevices of the silence not already occupied by your terror. _He's right beside you._

You want to widen your eyes. You want to cry, scream, fight back. You're trapped. The thoughts racing through your head do not omit the fact that you have some pretty shitty luck. **The Grand Highblood's** voice, deep and intimidating, invades your mind. "Kazkia, why do you look so distressed? I brought you home. _Mother fucking home!_ I'm saving you. _Again!_ " Suddenly there is cool steel slicing quickly between your eyelids. You flinch, causing the small scissors to graze you nose. **The Grand Highblood** tisks. "Squirming around... _Only makes it mother fucking worse!_ " His voice lashes at you from the inside and as your free eye widens, you see him. Exactly as before. Completely unchanged by the mental care he had undergone and his time, apparently not well spent, in prison.

He looms over you, his face unreadable behind the clown makeup that masks the black tentacles hiding beneath. Purple blood sprays his face in an easy line from his left eye to his chin. His eyebrows are raised and cluttered with metal; you remember looking at them from Mituna's closet. Piercings shroud his face; bars jut from the bridge of his nose and encase each eyebrow, a thick hoop hangs from his septum, silver balls line his cheekbones, and three sharp spikes in a row protrude from below his bottom lip. His earlobes hang almost to his shoulders with the size of his purple gauges. There is a smile that is pointed at you, but you stare into his eyes, taken aback by how normal they seem now that the adrenaline of the capture must have lifted. "Thank you for holding my friend. _**I**_ _'m sure he mother fucking appreciated it!"_ You had forgotten about whatever was resting on your legs, but he picks it up to remind you. You were right about the brown blood being the most adamant; it drips from the stump on the bottom of Tavros's head. Rufioh will be completely morose when the news reaches him. Gamzee's heart is shattering and you can hear it. Hell, you can even see the sadness in the dead eyes of the head swaying in front of you, the large horns smeared with blood. **The Grand Highblood,** with one hand tangled in the bodiless head, flicks your innocent friend's small septum piercing with the other. " _Look at mother fucking_ that! We match!" Not without more gigging, he tosses the slobbering decapitated head to the side. The flurry of emotions crowds your brain. The anger takes away your sight again, the horror rendering your entire being frozen, and finally, the abhorrence leaves with your consciousness.

You haven't been out for more than a minute and the table you're still strapped to is now almost vertical with the floor. Your other eye has been released and so you are free to make both of them as wide as consternation will allow and you see a mutated troll. That's the first explanation that you can grasp onto. A hornless troll with hair the color of marshmallows and skin a similar off white. Its head rests on a board, it's hands on either side of it with another board over his neck and wrists, crouched forward. Its eyebrows, the same shade as its hair and eyelashes, are cinched, but that is the only way to tell that its awake; its eyes are still sewn shut. Most disturbing is its mouth; it's held open by hooks jammed through his cheeks. The skin at the corners of his mouth is torn slightly, blood crusting it. Blood that's the same color as yours. Is _that_ what happens to trolls with mutant blood? It doesn't even have ears! What happened? Did his skin fall off? The creature is propped to the side of you, dripping with sweat and trembling slightly. You do not know whether to call it a he or a she because whatever the thing is dangling between its legs is awfully foreign and furry. Or maybe it's an alien. "I need to give him his glasses back; _I shan't be mother fucking stealing!"_ **The Grand Highblood** explains, slipping a dark pair of shades over the used-to-be troll's eyes. He flinches away from the sudden touch, his trembling increasing. He has wide shoulders pressed against the wood of his trap and thin legs, covered in white hair. Even in this dire situation, you note that the mass amount of _hair_ on this dude is just plain weird.

Your ears prick as **The Grand Highblood** moves around your table, and then you're shoved forward harshly. "Do you know what that was, Kazkia?" You press your lips together as if they'll start flapping at their own accord. "That's called a _mother fucking human._ I stole them from their _pathetic mother fucking planet_ that they were destroying. Saving the day again, as usual. _What would anyone do with out me?"_ There is a lot more you know everyone could do without him, but you try not to think about the vast amount of reasons just in case he can read your mind. He pushes you through a dirty hallway lined with doors. His pace is leisurely as he continues to talk. "I know why you think I sew your mouths closed, but you're wrong. _None of you mother fucking deserve my religion._ I do it because, _like mother fucking usual,_ I'm here to help. And this species needs to shut their grand protein chutes to _stop the mother fucking bullshit and lies,"_ The few wane lights ahead that work flicker, the dust in the air floating peacefully easily seen. _"_ But that one... that human had lips too stoic," he stops at a door and begins to dig around his vest pockets. "He has the truth _deep motherfucking within him_ and he keeps it to himself. So I'm teaching him to open his mouth more _and expel the mother fucking truth,"_

He yanks a key out of a felt pouch near the hem of his vest and thrusts it into the silver knob. His hand pauses. " _You still have much to mother fucking learn_. I'm just sorry no one has taught you anything yet," he opens the door and a blaring yellow light blinds you. You are wheeled only a few feet and still blinking back your vision when you are turned and then once again stilled. The whiteness fades and you see **The Grand Highblood** straining against his seams with a grin. "I wanted to take a detour - _a mother fucking wonderful detour!_ \- and show you something," his voice fingers your brain, sending shiver of violation across your skin and leaving tremors of fear that you had thought you had long gotten used to. In all four corners of the room are umbrella lights, shining on another... human. You assume that this one is female to the lack of a... _thing..._ dangling between her legs, just the patch of thick, curly hair.

Piercing the entire outline of her body are, unsurprisingly, hooks, holding her above a giant sheet of paper, as white as the ceramic floor. Skin the color of caramel drips with blood, the same color blood as _yours._ The human's silhouette of hooks only comes to her shoulders, where it is interrupted by a transparent plastic box, also attached to the ceiling by grungy gray rope. Inside the container, parted only by a plastic wall, are two small rooms; one containing six or seven rats, thin, panting heavily, and the other the girl's head. Beneath her wire rimmed glasses you can see that her eyes are electrified with panic, a brown so deep they're almost black. Budding out over her bottom lip, behind bars of yarn, are two buck teeth. Hair, long, curly, dark brown, is bunched inside the compartment it shares with her head to the side. Inside your own head comes a giddyy tittering, twigs that feed the newly constructed fire of terror inside of you. " _They haven't eaten in a mother fucking long time!_ I thought I'd give them a treat when I got the time. _A really good mother fucking feast!"_ He brings his face away from the rats and towards you. "And you're the mother fucking guest of honor." His voice is low and calm, almost deceivingly sane, as if he really were inviting you over as the guest of honor to an innocent tea party. Only, in this tea party, the strange looking almost-troll is the main course. **The Grand Highblood** steps around the other side of the alien so he can remove the wall barricading the rats and the human. The frenzy begins.

All at once the rats pounce on the vulnerable extremity. Her body thrusts around wildly, hooks ripping from flesh. Blood paints the paper underneath. Tiny, dirty claws puncture her cheeks, mangled yellow teeth shred them. "She was an animal lover," You watch as the throats of each rat swells with the meat moving smoothly down. Red speckles the rats' snow-white coats. "She didn't actually have anything to learn, I just needed a new piece of artwork," The girl's head moves side to side violently. Occasionally a rat cannot extricate its teeth from her fast enough and are tossed with the rapid movement of her face. Muffled screeches and protesting squeaks fill the room. "I thought this was a creative – _a mother fucking artistic way_ to get my new masterpiece," You can't look away. Oh dear mother grub do you want to, but the tails trailing blood and flicking away stray pieces of pink meat act as a glue. You can't look away. No, no, no, you can't look away.

You sit clenching your fists, unable to move and not just because of the restraints. Eventually, their nails graze bone. The rodents, fat and licking their paws, spread out around the cage, somber and still. The girl sputters, gasps; a few of her threads have broken, tinted red. Her skull is completely revealed, only her gnawed nose completely in tact. Both of her eyeballs have gone missing, stuck in the guts of the ignorant animals. Behind their empty sockets you can see the pulsing gray folds of brain matter. Her glasses hang loosely from one ear, bent. Craters of watery meat shine in the areas of meat that haven't been completely devoured, little of that there is. A leg dangles, unburdened by hooks. Tremors crash through her body, which strains against the new weight change. As she takes shallow breaths, releasing raspy sobs, **The Grand Highblood** claps pleasurably. " _This will make a fine mother fucking piece for my art gallery!"_ He bends down at the corner of the sheet of paper. There is a series of crackles and a harsh bang as the girl flops to the floor, followed by a wave of rope, hooks and dust. Her back arches as the breath is knocked out of her. **The Grand Highblood** keels over with laughter, holding his stomach in an almost comical manner. _"And now it's a grand mother fucking master piece!"_

The girl suddenly stops sobbing. From her comes a throaty, breathless, "No." And it sends the dungeon master into another fit of laughter. Her chest stops moving," _Oh mother fucking yes!_ This is far more than what I expected, well done, Jade!" Is that her name, Jade? It must be. As **The Grand Highblood** moves to roll Jade off of the paper, you're able to turn your head away. Immediately, your stomach cinches and sends bile stinging your throat. It bursts between the vice on your lips, dribbling down your chin and from your nose. The rest of it stays on your tongue, making the nausea kick your stomach with a spike in its heel. You have no choice but to swallow it, shivering with the disgusting maneuver. It tastes rancid and feels like slime as it goes back down. "There, _look at mother fucking that..."_ **The Grand Highblood** purrs, grinning at the blood-splattered paper. You, in fact, do not look at it and instead keep your eyes closed, focusing on not vomiting again. "Aw, Kazkia, you saw it, didn't you? I can't recreate the beauty of what _just mother fucking happened,"_ You continue to tense your body, breathing shallowly through your bile laden nostrils. A series of _tsks_ flows through your mind, condescending, and you're rolled away.

You've become numb. The slaughter of Jade still speckles the forefront of your mind. There is nothing inside of you. Even your thoughts are bland and undramatic. No reason to open your eyes any longer, though they twitch with your instinctual need to assess the situation. There is nothing to see, nothing that you _want_ to see. The toys and bones that you're driving through don't want to see you either. You attempt to meditate, focusing on your body, assessing it instead; the bile is crusting, no longer stabbing you with its sour smell, you're breathing normally, your skin pools with sweat, your body vibrates along with the movement of your makeshift vehicle. Whatever happens next is out of your control. Everything is out of your control. Not that you had anything to control anyways.

You offer no reaction when you stop. Another door of horrors is opened, and you only squeeze your eyes. You don't want to know or see what happens next. Your rolled farther into the room then spun around. "Open your eyes, Kazkia, this is where you will be spending the night. Say hello to your roommates!" Your eyelids twitch. " _I said mother fucking open your eyes!"_ Despite your previous refusal, you open your eyes wide. **The Grand Highblood** glares down at you then moves away, gesturing to the new room. There is yet another human, this one with beige skin. You know it's a female because the only thing between her legs is a patch of stubble. She sits on a small stool leaned against the wall, bare, her small wrists bound behind her and her legs to the chair. Greasy, shoulder-length blonde hair sticks to the sweat sheeting her entire face and body. Her stomach curves outwardly as if she's spent too many years drinking. Beside her, on a table that you can only imagine is similar to yours, is Eridan, propped up. Your eyes widen as they land on the seadweller and you want to shout to him. You want him to look at you. You wish that his eyes weren't sewn closed so that you could make eye contact. Your excitement dies as you realize there's nothing to get excited about. So you see a familiar face. That means nothing, you stupid girl. You look at the ground. " _Well that was mother fucking interesting!"_ You glare at the ground now, mentally cursing this insane fucking clown. "I wish all of you sweet dreams," He says, and you watch as he uncurls a mattress in the opposite corner of the room. He strips off his vest and his shirt as well as his pants and collapses onto the mattress in only his boxers. The wane yellow light above you still shines. Is he afraid of the dark?

 **I got rid of the chapter titles because, while this is supposed to be super cheesy, chapters with corny titles are just pointless. It also wouldn't hurt to leave comments or criticism, anything really. Hurt a lot LESS actually, if you ask me. Hope this didn't offend or scare anyone and instead caused you some kind of weird pleasure :o)**


	6. Chapter 6

p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"You wake up in the Captor hive and holy fuckin' hell is your head slammin' with the aches. The back door is standing wide open, a puddle of rain reaching towards you as it pours. You don't know how long they've been gone, but- oh man. Oh, emman/em, they've got Eridan. He's an annoying prick, and you'd much rather have a different dancestor, but you feel sick at the thought of him bein' emtortured/em. And all those other kids... Poor Tuna. You scramble to your feet, shoving through the vertigo and run out the door. No point in worryin' about your hair, there are lives that need savin'. You rush into the car and out of the driveway, nearly colliding into another and honking when they slam on their brakes. "Get the fuck outta the way, I got someplace to be!" You shout, flipping him off as the angry driver goes by. Ignoring all speed limits and road rules, you get to the police station in half the time you expected to./p  
p dir="ltr"The front lobby is crowded with people. Hasstrong The Grand Highblood/strong caused that much commotion? You see a guy with ginormous horns protruding from the side of his head and holy shit he has wings. But you don't remember seeing any trolls that looked like that at the party. There's three really short guys with equally nubby horns to match. Another seadweller with long braids cascading down her back slams her fist down on the front counter harshly, pointing her trident at an officer who looks unamused. And would you look at that, it's Officer Captor. "I am goddamn royalty and my lil gal's been missing for nearlyem four hours/em. What do I gotta do to get somethin' done round here?" The girl shouts. The officer hands her a clipboard and pen./p  
p dir="ltr""File a missing persons report just like everyone else here," You push past the lady, ignoring her hiss and lean in close./p  
p dir="ltr""Listen, I know where all these people went. It was strongThe Grand Highblood./strong I was at-"/p  
p dir="ltr""Enough. You can't tell a story like that-"/p  
p dir="ltr""It's not a story! These people-"/p  
p dir="ltr"em"In public/em. Come with me," Officer Captor leads you down one of the hallways and knocks on an office door. He signals to the cop inside through the large window on the door and she follows us deeper into the bowels of the police station. "He claims to know what happened to all of the missing kids," You consider momentarily mentioning that both of his kids were also kidnapped, but delay saying that for as long as possible. Don't want to break the guy's heart too early. At the end of the hallway there are two doors. The lady cop goes through the one on the left and you two men through the one on the right. Inside is a plain table, a couple of chairs, a large lamp and a huge ass mirror covering one wall entirely./p  
p dir="ltr""Does this place double as a ballet school?" You say, smirking. All you get is a bland look of annoyance. No use in tryna lighten the mood you guess./p  
p dir="ltr""So you know where they all are?"/p  
p dir="ltr""Nah, no. I just knowstrong The Grand Highblood/strong took them, all of them. I was at a party, see, drove my little dancestor and decided to stick around with the little ones..." I tell the story in as much detail as I can, and Officer Captor nods along the entire time. His face is set in stone, a mask of detachment. It's kinda freakin' me out, actually, but I don't say nothin' and keep describing the story. He already knows, obviously, that it happened in his hive. Just in case, though, I mention it at the end. "It was at your hive, I believe, sir," I tap the tips of my fingers together. "I'm really sorry, man," He sits back, licking his lips and sighs heavily. "I should probably file a missing persons report for my dancestor, right?" He nods, frowning deeply./p  
p dir="ltr""I'm sorry. I shouldn't get involved with this case, so the detective back there will come in shortly," He stands and walks out of the room without another word. Seems kind of abrupt, if you ask you. But no ever asks you anything./p  
p dir="ltr"You did try, to help that little girl. She was so damn tiny, and trembling. You felt this intense need to protect her. And you wish you could have. Damn, you should have done somethin' more. Tried to get your phone out of the car rather than chase him down like an idiot. Never would have worked. You run a hand down your face, sighing. You don't know what you're going to do without your dancestor, man. Can't stand the little shit most of the time but geez, he's a good kid. Doesn't deserve nothin' like this. And Dualscar hasn't even messaged you to make sure either of you are alright. That bastard doesn't give a shit. You sit for a long time, mulling things over, contemplating what could have happened and what did. You're no hero, but you could have been. Those poor fuckin' kids. You've been in here for an awful long time. Maybe you should just, check, see what's happenin' out there in the real world. It's probably locked, though. Why would it be? You didn't do nothin' wrong. You stand and walk to the door, cautiously turning the knob. Sure enough, it opens. The hallway is completely empty, but you can just see into another office. The blinds are drawn, but there's a broken one in the middle. As a seadweller, your ears are as fine tuned as a meowbeast's. You can hear urgent voices discussing something about... humans?span id="docs-internal-guid-c3dcdb69-79d2-1786-9056-6a7117ca43e7"What the fuck? You gently close the door behind you and creep over to the door, squinting into the slit. There are two trolls with burlap sacks over their heads, their wrists in cuffs. Wait a minute, their wrists are emwhite/em. One wears a purple skirt with legs so white they practically glow and she's short, her head bent forward. The other is significantly taller, wearing jeans and a black tank top, which reveals heavily muscled arms, one of which has a strange tattoo on it, a horrendously disfigured face. Officer Captor stands in front of them, a hand stroking his jaw as he looks the two up and down then nods. What, are those humans? What emis/em a human? Two officers slide in behind the "humans" and block your view of them. "Come on, come on... move, dammit," You murmur, crushing closer to the door. The officers move and you see more white. The one in the skirt has chin-length white hair with brown roots and a purple /spanheadband. It's messy, sticking up in every direction. The one in the tank top has hair that's more a yellow, wilting downwards like a sad flame./p  
p dir="ltr""You said there was another one?" Officer Captor looks to someone off to the side that you can't see./p  
p dir="ltr""Yes sir, another presumed male. He got away and we pursued for half an hour. No one has seen him since,"/p  
p dir="ltr""Has there been any reports of a white troll or anything?"/p  
p dir="ltr""No sir, not yet," Officer Captor nods, examining the two humans. You sigh, heavy with this new, strange information. Immediately, the one with the wilting flame glances over his shoulder and you see that he's wearing pointy sunglasses. You scramble backwards, praying that he won't say anything, and you fumble with the doorknob back to your interrogation room. It's locked. emFuck./em Shit. emDammit./em What would they do to you if they found out you now know about humans? You press your back against the door. No one is coming down the hallway. Now is your chance to leave. Go, run. You slick your hair back and step forward, prepared to do just that. The door to the room with the aliens opens and you stiffen, looking at a female officer slipping out. She blinks at you and walks towards you with an extended hand and a grin./p  
p dir="ltr""Hi, I'm Detective Redglare. I'll be working on your case," You shake her hand with an unsteady chuckle./p  
p dir="ltr""Sorry, I had to take a piss and the door was open," You explain, hoping she'll believe you. She nods and opens the door to the interrogation room, gesturing for you to walk in first./p  
p dir="ltr""Glad you're refreshed because we have a lot to talk about." /p  
p dir="ltr" /p  
p dir="ltr"strongThis is a sloppy chapter, but I'm not very good with making smooth transitions when a lot of things happen. Details are more my thing, you know?/strong/p 


	7. Chapter 7

You know what he's going to do with you. Last time, he said that you were allowed too much freedom so he shoved you into a cage. That same cage sits in the corner. It looks bigger than you remember, roomier. Hopefully it won't shrink and crush you like it has in your nightmares. You've since been staring at Eridan for hours. He cried for a short amount of time, whimpered and sniffled, but it soon gave way to anger. His face had contorted and a growl ripped through his throat, his arms and legs thumped against the table with what little room he had. He thrashed his head from side to side, banged it against the table until **The Grand Highblood** jolted up from his mattress and caught him by the throat. Eridan's tantrum stopped short as **The Grand Highblood** leaned close into his face. Eridan then cried and sniffled and whimpered until he eventually must have drifted into sleep.

You watched the girl more closely, latching onto every moment. Her face was heavy with hopelessness and sorrow. She would twitch randomly then jerk awake, begin to panic and breathe rapidly, twist around, then gradually calm down and lean her head against the wall. You wonder what it's like to be a human, how different they are from trolls. As you try to imagine what this creature's life could have been like, she suddenly thrusts herself to the side. She tips, falling to the ground with a bang that startles **The Grand Highblood** to sit up. She uses her chin to pull herself towards the door, her feet dragging the stool behind her. Like a worm, she wiggles her way to the door, but not before **The Grand Highblood** stretches and stands, groggily walking over to her. She continues to crawl, her face going red from the effort. **The Grand Highblood** calmly puts his bare foot on the stool, stoops down to harshly thrust her back onto it, and kick it back to the wall. She slumps in defeat. Why did she do that, you wonder, to just give up as soon as he found her? And did she honestly think she could have gotten away in her state and making all that noise? What did _Eridan_ think he was going to accomplish by throwing a fit? You slowly shake your head in confusion as **The Grand Highblood** speaks. "Yes, I agree. It's time to wake up and start the day. It's time for you to _mother fucking repent,"_ You watch apathetically as he snatches a blade from beside his mattress, bends down over the awkwardly lanky girl and runs it between her lips and each eye, snapping the bands binding them.

Immediately, as if they had been pressing to escape, words tumble out. "Oh please, scary monster man! I don't wanna die. What you're doin' is wrong, can't you see? My mom is famous, she can help you, I promise. She'll get you a discount on the greatest therapist in the whole world. Earth world, that is," She continues on pointlessly, you think out of hysteria rather than an actual attempt at persuasion. Her voice strikes you as strange, laced with an accent that almost sounds like a child who hasn't quite grasped how to smoothly move her tongue. It irritates you, but you do not want to see the torture awaiting her.

 _"Too much pointless mother fucking sopor!"_ He picks up his vest from his pile of clothes and pats the pockets until he finds the one he's looking for. "If you want to ingest such sin, your weak, _ruined mother fucking body_ better be able to handle this!" He pulls out a flimsy vial, swirling with a clear liquid not unlike water. He places a finger under the girl's chin and she pauses her mantra as if listening. They're both still for several moments. The girl's lips move slightly, and her voice gradually increases in volume.

"No!" She screams, wrenching her head away from the finger tilting her head up. Anger flickers in **The Grand Highblood's** throat and she flinches from the growl. You, however, are still feeling detached. You feel like you are watching a cheesy horror movie and are already half asleep. The girl's head is forcefully tipped back, and she fights, throwing her body side to side, trying to clamp her mouth shut. Ironic that after she has just been freed, she longs for her mouth to once again be closed. Perhaps she has dark secrets that she does not trust herself with keeping. Nevertheless, the vial is forced between her teeth and emptied, most of the liquid dribbling onto her chest. **The Grand Highblood** releases her, steps back to review his work. She still tosses herself around, now spitting, cursing at him with that almost nasal accent.

All at once, she stills. Her cheeks take on a green hue. Does this one have candy red mutant blood too, or is she a limeblood? You wonder if she has any special abilities. Her shoulders bend forward and her mouth opens wide, as if something is crawling out of it. She swallows hard, leaning forward, and just as her body spasms, a bowl is slid onto her lap. She vomits into it, stirring your own nausea. When all has left her body, she spits into the bowl, shuddering with disgust. **The Grand Highblood** pats her head almost lovingly and molests his vest again. The girl looks up at you. Your eyes meet through the tiny curtains of broken thread that dangle from her eyelids. What can you do to offer... something? Anything. You force your lips into a smile, ignoring the pinch in them, and wiggle your fingers. She smiles back sadly, tears filling her eyes. "Hey, I'm Roxy," She says, her voice rough. The Grand Highblood pulls out a funnel and holds it in the air for a moment before roughly grabbing Roxy by the throat. She doesn't fight back anymore, though she whimpers. He lets go of her to set up. The funnel is placed inside her mouth and bowl onto the tip of it. "No, don't do that. Stop!" Roxy bites onto the funnel and tries to rip it away, spit it to the side, but the liquid it already being poured. It crashes onto the floor for a moment, but **The Grand Highblood** closes her mouth around the funnel tube.

"Purge, my dear... you must purge several times over before you are clean," He says as you watch Roxy cry, reluctantly swallowing her own vomit. He pulls away and she shudders in disgust again, several times over, very violently. She tucks her chin into her chest and shakes her head. Another spasm rocks through her body and once again the bowl is placed into her lap. She turns away violently, leaning to the side, but **The Grand Highblood** clamps his hand onto the back of her neck, forcing her to aim into the bowl. The funnel is placed in her mouth again and you squeeze your eyes shut. The sounds of protest. Liquid sloshing. Wet swallowing. The sour smell makes its way over to you and a wave of dizziness crashes into you. But you hold it in, determined not to puke again. The normal sounds of "purging" are interrupted by choking. "Oh no, I guess some of it went down the wrong tube," **The Grand Highblood** says thoughtfully, and you open your eyes timidly as he sits back on his heels to stare intensely. Roxy's face glows hot pink, weird sounds coming from her throat. She's going to die in such an inglorious way. She has such kind eyes. She doesn't deserve this, and neither did Jade or the human boy. None of them deserve this. Neither do you. You close your eyes again as Roxy struggles to take in a clean breath of air. There is nothing for a few moments. No sounds, no troubles, nothing. "Hm. I suppose she wasn't meant to be cleansed. Oh well, _at least I mother fucking tried."_

Roxy is limp, leaning against the stone wall behind her. Hollow heaviness settles in your chest and you realize that there are many shades to emptiness. Stages, leading up to some greater swelling emotion that you don't care about reaching. **The Grand Highblood** stretches his arms above his head again, sighing as they drop back to his side. Your heart picks up speed at the anticipation of him turning to you. Instead, he bends to his pile of clothes, dresses, and leaves the room without a word of explanation. You relax considerably, not having realized how tense you truly were. For the moment at least, the threat is gone. Again, you study Eridan. He's unmoving, breathing evenly. He can't possibly be asleep, but he's so calm. It's so quiet and serene now. Almost enough so to be comfortable. Exhaustion takes over in a matter of seconds and your head tips forward as you fall asleep.

A roar echoes throughout the small room. Your eyes fly open and you instantly go rigid again, staring as **The Grand Highblood** raises a chainsaw. "I'm sorry to wake you. What must be done shall be done," You inhale sharply as he bends over Eridan, blocking your view of him. Over the loud sound of the tool as it descends toward the bound troll, **The Grand Highblood** explains, "He's too set in his ways. _Too mother fucking stubborn_ and unwilling to change. He's blind to the other side of an argument. _He needs to learn to go both mother fucking ways,"_ There is a loud squeak that makes you cringe, sparks flying around **The Grand Highblood's** silhouette. He lifts the chainsaw, turns it off, and steps away, breathing hard. You still can't see Eridan himself, but you see the blood that cascades onto the floor in wisps of waterfalls, clinging to the legs of the table. Once they have turned into mere drips, **The Grand HIghblood** sets down his weapon, wipes his hands together, and turns towards you. "We're on a roll, Kazkia. We've done so much mother fucking good in just two days. Thank you for accompanying me," He smiles at you pleasantly and moves behind your table.

You don't want to, but you look. A slash of dark purple wraps around Eeridan's waist and you're confused for a second. Then it clicks that he was sliced in half. How could you have expected anything less? You press back against the table as **The Grand Highblood** pushes you towards Eridan. Your breathing turns shallow. God why won't he just kill you already? You don't know what you did in a past life to deserve any of this, but dear Mother Grub, you're sorry. You're so sorry to have ever been born, to have ever laughed and hoped and seen flowers blooming. You're sorry to your very core for ever existing.

 **The Grand Highblood** stops you right next to Eridan. You're close enough to brush your fingers against his, but you look away. You're sorry for him, too and on his behalf. What did any of you do to deserve this? You focus on **The Grand Highblood** and on scrutinizing what he's doing. He opens the cage and lets the door hang open. "I'm going to take your restraints off, but I want you to keep in mind that there is _absolutely no mother fucking way for you to escape._ You will not be salvaged," He turns towards you, his lips quirked in a smile. "Even though you are my grand mother fucking favorite," He takes a key from a pocket near his shoulder and uses it to unlock your ankles, then your waist. You watch his face intently and feed on the adrenaline as you prepare to kick him in the gut. Maybe if you prove to be a nuisance, he'll kill you sooner. His eyes flick to yours just before he fully removes your metal belt. "Don't do it, Kazkia. It will only cause you more pain," Impossibly, his voice lowers an octave. You gulp and trash the idea of fighting back. He removes the cuffs from your wrists and holds them together with one hand as he hefts you into his arms and throws you into the cage. You slam against the bars, looking out at him helplessly. He pushes your table hard enough to send it crashing into the opposite wall, making you jump and press your legs to your chest. You wrap your arms around your knees, nearly grateful for the change of position that doesn't make you feel so vulnerable. **The Grand Highblood** pushes on the top top of the cage, wheeling you towards the door. You press your forehead to your knees, blocking out the real world.

 _Happy Wriggling Day._

The thought whispers in the back of your mind. You had completely forgotten that it's your Wriggling Day. You wish you had Karkat by your side, that he was the one sending you happy wishes. The cage jolts beneath you as **The Grand Highblood** passes into another room. Wildly curly hair cascades down the back of someone facing the wall, chains trailing behind her and bolted to the wall nearby. **The Grand Highblood** crouches beside her and pets her hair lovingly. The girl looks up at him with a free smille. You recognize her instantly; _Meulin._

Once again, excitement stirs at the sight of familiarity, and once again, you press it down. You need to stop trying to fool yourself. "I believe you know Meulin? _She's a mother fucking wonderful girl!"_ You crinkle your brows in confusion as **The Grand Highblood** drops you off in the corner. Unexpectedly, he turns away from you, to Meulin and begins signing with his hands. Meulin watches closely with a wobbly smile, but you aren't sure how she's feeling. She signs back enthusiastically with a squeal and a broad grin. They go back and forth and you press your back against the bars, looking up at the ceiling of the cage. In the flaking red paint is a bird. The irony of it does not amuse you. **The Grand Highblood** suddenly appears in front of you, glaring. What previous joy he found in fawning over Meulin appears to have dissipated. He pulls out a small packet of hooks from one of his pockets and hastily unlocks the cage. A heavy ball of dread drops in your stomach. _"Ugly girls don't get pretty designs."_ He says venomously, gripping your throat in his hand. Shoved against the bars of the cage, your hands clasped around his wrist, you're powerless as he pierces the flesh just below your left eye. Pain blossoms, your eye immediately beginning to swell, but he doesn't slow down. In a matter of seconds, your face is a mask of silver hooks and he moves lower.

 **"Alaskan hookers should be called Frostitutes." - Thoughts From the Showers**


	8. Chapter 8

Your name is Karkat Vantas and the first time Kazkia was kidnapped, you two weren't as close. Your reaction was immediate. You were angry. You had thrown things, you had blamed **The Signless** and you had blamed yourself. Especially yourself. You were, after all, her twin. And after she had been found, when you saw her shaking and shying away from **The Signless'** touch, you saw that her eyes were different. Not only did they flick around suspiciously, as if expecting an attack, but something was missing from them. Rather, something had been stolen and replaced. Her irises had been rimmed with a venetian red, sparked with sarcasm that could sting; though the same color, the spark had obviously been distinguished, replaced with an intense seriousness. Her irises had before the Incident been swimming lava, the intelligence and clarity startling those who dared interpret it. When she had looked at you after her four day stay with **The Grand Highblood** , the cautious aspect of her intelligence was acute, blinding out the quick wit you had come to admire. The ring of magenta around her pupils bled into her clarity. That is when you had decided to be her protector.

This time around, anger eludes you. As does sadness. And awareness. You are filled with an airy emptiness, floating outside of yourself. You feel as though your skin has been lazily draped over you, capturing the emotions that you should be feeling and filtering it through without ever letting you grasp it. Kankri's insufferable rants and spiels about Kazkia don't affect you; the nipping hunger in your stomach from two days without eating is separate of you. In actuality, you're only a ghost, stalking the body that claims to be you. But it's not doing the right things; it doesn't complain as much, or demand to know exactly what happens at the meetings **The Signless** goes to everyday. It hasn't watched a single romcom or even thought about one. Its eyes are glazed over.

It's time to stop making excuses. You think this lightly, timidly, not very seriously, as you walk down the hall. For the first time, you actively recognize that you're in school. Alright, what the fuck. You are in absolutely no condition to be around blistering assholes with no concern about anything than making people like them. Without a reaction to your inner epiphany, you slide out your cellphone. Kankri would be glad to have another opportunity to "comfort" you. He agrees to stop whatever stupid thing he's doing and pick you up in half an hour. That's not too bad; you'll only have to deal with fifteen minutes or so of absolute douche baggery. With your hands shoved into your jacket pockets, you start your stroll down the packed hallway and are stopped by Kanaya, who hands you a wrapped present.

"Happy Wriggling Day, Karkat," She says with a thin smile. You want to feel something. Whether that be sadness at the absence of sharing your Wriggling Day with your sister, or gratitude at the gesture, love for your moirail; but you look down at the present like she just let you borrow a pencil.

"Thanks. I really appreciate it," you say without enthusiasm, smiling up at her.

"Do you want Porrim to take you home...? She wouldn't mind," You shake your head.

"Kankri's picking me up in half an hour," She nods, rubbing her arm. She opens her mouth to say something but is cut off when Gamzee pulls you into an embrace.

"Happy Wriggling Day, motherfucker! I got'cha something," He shoves a large box in your hand covered in pink striped wrapping paper. You can hear the sloshing of Faygo and roll your eyes internally. Another interruption before you can thank him; Tavros sets a small box, two birthday bags and three other boxes on top of Gamzee's present.

"Uh… sorry. They're not all from me. Some of those are for…" Tavros' eyes flick to Gamzee quickly. "Kazkia," He says her name like it's a sin. You nod at him once in thanks and turn your back on them starkly.

Once inside your respiteblock, alone with only yourself as company, you stop breathing. Around you is a scattered array of romcoms, video games, dirty clothes and books. The overhead fan clicks and rattles. "What the hell is wrong with me…" You mutter with a sigh, looking around with tainted clarity. Everything is so normal. An average respiteblock with an average troll inhabiting it. You used to think, even after the _first_ Incident, that the world was normal. Actually, you thought it was bland and bleak. Look between the trees and there could be a werewolf lurking, but you know there isn't. Only a crazed jugglator with a broken mind and big hands. As you stumble to your bed, you feel like the camera in a movie. Your respiteblock tips around you, showing the unknown audience that you're in distress. You look at the plain black bedspread, scrutinizing its every fiber, feeling every pathetic tremor of your stupid god damn heart that pumps a disgusting shade of red, staining your veins with inevitable sickness and harassment and promises of superpowers that you'll never actually discover because you're you and that is just about the worst thing anyone could ever admit.

God, you hate yourself. Why are you so selfish? Here you are, wondering how this movie will end, when the protagonist is dealing with the _real_ plot. She could have lashes of wounds on her back from whips made of troll scales. She could be insane like **The Grand Highblood** , cackling and not knowing why. She could have maggots festering in her empty eye sockets by now! Someone dies every three seconds and the odds are that she's next.

And yet, here you still are, staring blankly at a bed in a puddle of self-deprecation. Stop worrying about your blood; you can't control it. **The Signless** will protect you. And so will **The Disciple**. **The Dolorosa**. **The Fucking Psiionic** himself for Christ's sake! So what if you're going to die sixty years before your friends? You don't want to live that long anyways. Or at all. There's no reason to.

You realize that your thoughts have momentarily strayed from your sister and, in a fit of guilt, rip the black comforter off of your bed. You dig your teeth into it and shred it, yanking it away from your mouth, spitting out the filling. You pounce on the damn thing, slamming your head into the floor. Thoughts elude you. Blackness encases your vision. You can feel only the tug of your fangs as you tear fabric, and the throb of your horns when they smash against the floor. Anger burns in your chest. It laps at your throat in growls and seething grunts. You stop when the blanket is shapeless. But you pant, scowling harder at the pile of harmless fluff than you've ever scowled at anything in your entire life. Your talons dig into your palms. You're not done. You won't be done until **The Grand Highblood's** body is in worse condition than the innocent bedspread. You absolutely swear to it. That foaming spring-loaded weasley bastard will roll in hell with the horrorterrors. You swear. The door opens, interrupting your dramatic, binding vow to the universe.

"You seem triggered so I took the liberty-"

"Get the fuck out!" You scream at Kankri, throwing yourself at him, batting the glass of water out of his hand and shoving him into the hallway. He blinks up at you from the ground. "I am _not..._ fucking... _triggered_ ," and with that, you slam the door hard enough to make the walls shiver. Triggered your ass… you're not triggered. What absolute, pure bullshit. You imagine Kazkia sitting on your bed, shaking her head. If she had seen that, she'd be frowning.

"Deep breaths, Karkat. Close your eyes," you do as your imaginary sister advises, inhaling through your nose. Holding it for a second. Exhaling through your mouth. You do this several times, your fists slowly unfurling. "You okay now?" You nod, tearing up as you imagine her timid voice, always gentle when it comes to emotions. "Beautiful. I know you're angry, and he should have knocked, but he was trying to help you, you know that. You should apologize. It looked like you scared the hell out of him," she'd smile at you and you'd roll your eyes, grateful to have her by your side.

You attempt a smile at the empty space by your side now. She always said she liked you best when you smiled. You should have smiled more. But as you try, it gets increasingly harder. It's too fake. It hurts your teeth. It's awkward. Your mouth droops again and you're left with teardrops on your shirt. Still standing, unable to move by some force or another, you stare at the two cubes of ice on the floor. It was never hot in the house because it sometimes would remind Kazkia of the Incident. As you watch the webs of white inside the ice crackle, you think. Rumor has it that twins can communicate telepathically.

"I miss you, Kazkia. Real fucking bad. We'll get you out this shitty situation," You think it hard, imagining the words sneaking into her mind through her ears. There. If that powerful bout of concentrated words didn't make it to her, nothing ever will. You start to think about how lucky you are that twins can't actually feel each other's physical pain. Pain that you wish you felt instead of her. And that she has to feel it on- "Oh! Happy Wriggling Day!" You shout at her mentally, once again forcing that into her mind. Then, out loud, futilely, "Hope it's a good one…"


End file.
